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ceremony to perform. Go wait in the basement.”
    John, Dick, and Ted left the living room. Downstairs, the altar waited, the tools for warding the place for privacy were laid out. So were the vessels waiting to be filled with the death energy the demon’s servants had gathered from their recent kills. The demon would drink that energy. His power would grow. But some of the energy would be set aside for the great purpose that only the Master and Jack knew about.
    Jack waited at the Master’s side while the Master watched the trio go.
    The demon sighed. It was an odd, haunting sound. The Master shook his head. “I wish some of Manson’s kids were available. Think what we could be doing with that crew if California hadn’t changed the death penalty law?” He walked toward the basement stairs, graceful and beautiful. “Time to feed my soul. Don’t worry, my friend,” he added with a backward glance. “You’ll bring me your special offering tomorrow.”

chapter eight
    C hristopher was totally surprised when his pert little prisoner recognized where they were in that vast city the instant he led her out of the front door of the empty building.
    He watched as she looked the place up and down and gave a short laugh. “I remember when this used to be a second-run movie theater. The place is haunted,” she added with a look at him.
    “I didn’t notice,” he answered.
    “Me, either. But maybe the vampire in the room scared the ghosts off.”
    “Most ghosts are people’s overactive imaginations,” he scoffed. He looked her over critically. “Although I’ve heard tales of very bad witches conjuring souls up out of the pits of hell.”
    Someone who possessed an athame such as this young woman carried might be a very bad witch indeed. It washard to believe that someone who appeared so delicate and cute and had a mind strong enough to fight strigoi control could be counted among the black ones. Then again, being able to fight him was a clue, wasn’t it?
    “Do you know many ghosts?” he asked her.
    “Not a one,” she replied. “Besides, you don’t
know
ghosts. Most apparitions are just traumatic energy imprinted on a place—ghost appearances are only endless reruns. Like the History Channel.”
    “I know,” he said. “I saw the ghost of Catherine Howard at Hampton Court Palace once, poor scared girl running down a hallway over and over. Very sad.”
    The girl looked at him with new interest. “Were you a member of the Tudor court?”
    “Nope. Just part of a midnight tour group.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “What do you think of Midnight Tourist for the name of a band?”
    She put her free hand on her hip. “You’re chattering to distract me, trying to get into my head again. Give it up. It won’t work.”
    It would if he tried harder, but he wasn’t ready to cause her that sort of pain yet. Or he could bite her, claim her as his own, and get whatever he wanted out of her.
    He smiled at the idea.
    “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “You know why,” he told her.
    “You said you wanted breakfast, and I’m not on the menu.” She tugged him up the sidewalk. “Come on. I know a place that’s open all night.”
    “You’re going to be fun.”
    Fun, or would it be too much trouble to claim her? Trouble and fun, he decided. But he didn’t have time for breaking in a new pet right now.
    Still, the heat of her body registered as lilacs and electricblue against his senses one moment, red as burning roses the next. The swift changes of her moods and body reactions were enticing. He breathed in her growing awareness of him, the slight attraction mixed with defiance and fear. She aroused so many of his senses at once that the notion of claiming her grew more remote with each step. At least, he tried to make his awareness of this enemy of the strigoi remote, aloof, while his body kept telling him,
You know, mate, it’s been a while since anyone interesting has come along…
    It would be